


la petite mort

by your_taxidermy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, hes my daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_taxidermy/pseuds/your_taxidermy





	la petite mort

_la petite mort is an expression which means “the brief loss or weakening of consciousness” and in modern usage refers specifically to “the sensation of post-orgasm as likened to death.”_

You never expected to be in your apartment room with Nines, your hands resting on your tummy. Your bra and panties matching, the light purple lace clinging to your inner thighs. The iridescent red lights shining down on you made you glow, your skin lightly coated in sweat. RK900 sat at the edge of your bed, perfectly still and content, watching you with his stormy hawkeyes. It was a paradise between your thighs and the heavenly valleys of your hips and waist, your mortal flesh illuminated under the light. The machine’s eyes scanned you, the corner of his lips tugged into a ghost of a smirk. You could say he barely changed his face, but you could see the faint expression when you pulled your thighs together. Your eyes were pooling with tears, tears of sadness and those of guilt; why didn’t he love you? Why couldn’t he just listen?

Nines walked up to your feet, resting his hands on them slowly, his eyes former slits as he thought how pathetic a human desire was, how much it drove us to do anything to quench the thirst.

“Nines, please, don’t -” you begged him to stay with you, you couldn’t stand another lonely night in the motel again, you were so alone, cold at night. Even if he couldn’t offer you physical warmth, you wanted someone, something to be near you. His icy hands traveled up your legs, his nails digging into your knees. You let out a whine, the pain he caused you danced so perfectly with the pleasure you felt between your legs with each squeeze of your thighs.

He was basked in crimson light, his plain black shirt hugging his arms tightly, he looked so angelic under the lights, his blue hues shining so bright, so much you swore you saw yourself in his eyes. He didn’t love, that much you knew. You wish he did, he told you he did. You didn’t want to think it was for his mission. He claimed it was and he’d have no reason to lie.

He wanted to break your heart, he adored having you wrapped around his finger like a lace tie. You felt a wave of shame bask over you, falling for a fucking robot, a toy, a fucking….

_A fucking machine. You fell for a machine. A fucking hunk of plastic ripped your heart out._

“Why did you tell me you loved me, Nines?” you asked, your voice a strained whisper.   
“To accomplish my  **mission**.”   
“You spent three months on your investigation… told me you loved me… “   
“You shouldn’t be so emotional over it, Y/N. I did what I had to do and now? I am here with you, and you’re alright with me seeing you in the nude and shame? Why? Is it because I am stronger than your other hunks of plastic? Because you know  I will leave you?” his nails gliding over your knees. “I know you won’t stay forever, Nines. But can you blame me?”

He shook his head, resting his knee between your feet, hovering above your innocent, vulnerable form.

You couldn’t help you wanted him, even after the heartbreak and ache. You were a silly young girl, chasing after a machine who would never love you. Loving Nines was so hard, so fucking hard. But  _loving_  Nines? Easy.

It was easy to let him crawl between your legs, how smoothly he would pin your hands above your head, his ivory canines sinking into your flesh. It was easy to let him kiss you, biting your lips, and making you miss hating him. When you hated him, you could live without him… it was so easy to detest him, it was easy to watch him destroy everyone in his waking path like a hurricane.

It was easy for him to say “I love you,” even if it meant nothing. You just wanted to hear it again, even if it meant nothing. You knew how he felt, or rather, how he didn’t feel. “I’m sorry, Nines, I’m so fucking stupid and deluded, y-you…”

He hushed your lips with his thumb, his skin was still just as cold as before. You opened your mouth to speak but he didn’t allow words to fall. “Don’t speak,” he muttered, running his thumb over your bottom lip. You knew better than to try and kiss him, you’d only bring yourself more shame, he already had a way of making you feel like a damned fool for falling for him.

He crawled slowly, his body weight making the bedsprings creak. His fingers didn’t leave your lips.

The hard exterior of the hunter was such a contrast from the softness in his hands, in his mouth, the way his tongue slipped past your teeth. It was hard at first. When he first kissed you, that day in the office when you were convinced he just felt fake pity for you. Your mouth was soft but he was hard for that first kiss, this jaw like marble, unable to bend and mold like clay. But then it changed, his softness began to shine through. You didn’t know why he suddenly took interest in you when he had ignored everyone’s existence before. What did you have that he wanted?

He slipped his arm under your back, pulling you up to him with ease. “C-can I touch your face?” your words fell soft like goose feathers into the pod when the coyote hungrily snatched them up. You were the prey, the doe, the songbird.

He was the coyote, the trained hunter to bring a perfect body back to his master. You knew he would never change. He had no mind of his own, not as you thought. His mind was chained down with the strongest of links, if you gave him an inch, he would drag you a mile down a gravel road, leaving you covered in road rash and busted knees and elbows. He would take you for a wild ride and then leave you behind when things got crazy, speeding down highways at 90. You could fall and reach for his hands but he would only speed down the freeway again.

His lips were on yours and your and it was the softest action he’d ever done, he wasn’t made for this. He wasn’t made to be soft. You wanted to say his name but it only fell into his throat. Everything you wanted to say fell into his mouth to be lost forever, he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t need to talk. He knew every plead you’d make, every love poem you’d recite.

He listened to every hitch in your breath as he kissed your neck, the way you arched your hips into his groin, how desperately starved for his affection you were. He was the Hades of your floral dreams, your desire to be the Persephone of his underworld kingdom. But there was no heaven or hell for machines.

His mission was complete but still, he stayed.

“You… you told me you loved me,” you couldn’t shake the thought. He fucking lied, he lied, he lied.   
“I know what I did, Y/N,” his voice was still, but a hint of amusement was laced around every word, oh, he knew what he was doing.

He had a wicked way of telling you things, maybe he did feel things.

He felt the ghost of things.

He felt what was left of love, the last letter of anger, or the first of love.

But it still wasn’t enough, it never would be enough because it was all fake. “Nines,” you whispered.

He lifted his head from the crook of your neck.

“Mhm?”

His voice is still as stone as before but you know what he is thinking.

“Please. Don’t stop.” You begged him, it wasn’t outright but he could read you like a paperback book, flipping the pages and bending them back again and again until they were too worn to even touch. He could pull your strings and control you however he pleased. He was a marionettist. A master puppeteer and he made everyone his puppet. You were no different. No matter how much you wanted him to change.

His teeth sunk into your skin,  his fingers imprinting you like candlewax, a seal for a perfect letter you’d never get to read. It all happened all too fast, you couldn’t keep your head above the violent waves he created around you. You would drown slowly, thrashing against the water was always futile and you knew it.

He held you tight, his grip was like that a lion around the gazelle that dared venture too close to his pride. No matter how fast you ran, how hard you pushed, he would always be there to catch you.

The aroma billowing around the room filled your lungs, his subtle scent of dark cologne and your perfume of roses reminded him of the peaceful Zen garden he spent most of his time in.

A rose he could pluck and dethorn.

But your thorns for words couldn’t cut him. You could try to hurt him but he would twist your words utterly destroy you.

Maybe it was pity, did he feel bad for you? No, surely he didn’t.

“Nines, Nines, Nines,” you chanted into his ears, feeling his artificial breath on your neck.

“Please.”

You could plead and plead but he wouldn’t dare utter the words again.

You lost yourself in him, you found a home in his eyes and an empty cove in his mouth, a cove you could turn into a magical place, but only in your head.

“I want you to say my name again.”   
He did not ask. Nines did not ask for anything.

His name flew off your tongue like warm honey and you could feel a little death take over your body.

He made you weak.   
He made you cry and want more, even though you knew it wasn’t real.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling so tight your tenons ached.

You learned that hating him was impossible. You couldn’t love him either, he wouldn’t let you.

No matter how many one night stands you had, he was still the same machine from before.

No matter how many little deaths you experienced, Nines was still the same.

Machines don’t change. Once they are created, they are set in their ways.

Just like war.

War never changes.

“I still love you, Nines,” you whispered through each thrust of his hips.   
“Even if… you don’t love me.”

Nines buried his face in your neck, he didn’t want to listen anymore.

“I know,” he breathes heavily, his eyes fluttered shut.

“You’ll never change,” he adds. How ironic…

Just like you, a machine will never change. 


End file.
